Paid In Full
by Entwife Incognito
Summary: Sometimes it takes thunder and lightning to clear dense, threatening atmosphere. Sometimes it takes OOC to bring out a hidden possibility. Kinda rough in spots, but the love never falters. Warning! This story has strong sexual content. If you don't like that type of material, do not read this! Disclaimer: I own nothing about The Mentalist.


Patrick Jane loved cases that took the team into the wilds of the CBI's jurisdiction. It didn't matter if it was forests or desert, ocean or fields, farmland or river. It didn't matter that it always involved dead bodies. Leaving the city for fresh air and open spaces, wildlife and bloom, always refreshed his spirit.

In this sense, certainly not in the sense of God or religion, Jane was a deeply spiritual man, perhaps the most estimable thread of what made him redeemable, despite what even his friends recognized as his infinite capacity for jackassery. That and the deep wounds of his own losses and mistakes resonated with the truly injured and vulnerable whose paths he crossed every day in his job as CBI consultant to his team leader, Teresa Lisbon.

None of this entered his own head. Being a very emotional man, he responded as his heart told him, including its bypass to wield the razor of his intellect and disdain to strip the culpable, and especially the fraudulent, to the bone. It satisfied his compulsion to self-expose, to self-hate, by revealing the fraud in those who preyed on the weak as he had once done. It produced levels of self-denial bordering on austerity and including a careful, reserved celibacy which he knew protected any potential partner from the wrath of a serial killer who had singled him out to destroy even a suspicion of physical pleasure in love and companionship from his life.

Patrick was a man forced to loneliness whose natural capacity to love and be loved was a gift most could struggle a lifetime and never achieve by effort. He chose to suffer this isolation like a starving man, fasting from life in its most human expression. He thirsted and would not drink, making a poison of his blood, grown thick and dark from lack of circulation. The pain of his lack was constant. At times he felt he could not contain it, stretch enough to absorb his own reality. It tortured his nights to sleeplessness.

At its height, the pain made him feel transparent, broken open like a shattered wine glass, hanging mid-air in suspended animation. Not dead. Rather, bright with suffering. The only thing he could do was let it in, let it irradiate him and then pass through, leaving ash that blew away clean, erasing another layer of psyche. The missing pieces tormented him, grieving losses that made him feel at times invisible and insignificant as a wraith, fading as the years went by.

Teresa Lisbon had seen this happen to Patrick, watched the broken glass fill him with light and nearly blind her, ringing high and clear in all her senses. The vibration of that light would possess her if she let it. Her instinct was to anchor him, comfort him so he would know to find her on the other side, waiting, before the darkness settled. But she knew better. Full physical comfort from her seemed like fear-kryptonite to Patrick, like matter to his anti-matter, sure to annihilate one another in a soundless orgy of destruction. What happened to the world after that would be irrelevant to their dispersed molecules. But there was no doubt that each would have given their life for the other if there were no way to save both.

None of this entered Lisbon's head either. She acted from professional training, tamping down the personal to clear a safe, knowable path. Her native well of empathy was sufficient redemption for several fallible men. Teased as Saint Teresa, she was more like the healing pool of the grotto springs at Lourdes. But anyone who sought to be made whole must first make the pilgrimage. Patrick Jane had become accustomed to Hades.

# # # # #

"Jane! Ja-ane!" Lisbon had knocked and rang on his door three times already. "It's Lisbon. Remember, we're going to the park this morning?" She knocked again. "Jane!" His car was in the lot. Finally, Lisbon thought she heard shuffling footsteps approach the threshold.

In a few seconds Jane had opened his door. His hair was flat on one side and standing straight up everywhere else, but he wore jeans and sneakers topped by a comfy-worn t-shirt. His stubble was impressive. "I was brushing my teeth, Lisbon. Do you have to break the door down? You really have no patience."

"I was afraid you were still asleep in there. You should've hollered. Here. You can use my comb." Lisbon dug around in her little cross-body bag and held out a pink rattail comb.

Jane eyed the instrument suspiciously. "That's a girl's comb." Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled out his own black "boy" comb. "Do you want to make sure my part is straight?" He couldn't help smirking.

"No, smart ass, just trying to be helpful. And keep you from scaring small children and old ladies." She watched him comb as he walked. "I don't think it's helping."

"I just need to get the knots out. It'll relax on its own in a minute." He ruffled his fingers vigorously through his hair and let it be.

"Must be nice."

"Yours does the same. It always looks best when you let it be natural waves."

"Well aren't we just BFFs? We'll have to talk favorite celebrities next." Lisbon smiled at the thought. She was sure Jane would rather attend a baby shower.

"The park is down here, Lisbon. It's small but it's pretty and the city keeps it nice. It's not a kiddie park."

"Lead the way."

It was a very nice park, and not so small. Ornamental grasses and flowering bushes decorated the walkways and made a wonderful backdrop to the flowerbeds, a small lily pond and even a modest fountain. There were benches and places to stretch if you were a serious walker or runner. But Jane and Lisbon were there just to enjoy some down time. Jane greeted many of the dogs that approached him on leashes with their owners. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

Lisbon was relieved. It was the absolute truth that her doctor had said she must find a way to release the stress of her job. Dragging Jane along satisfied her desire that he do the same. He obviously needed it more than she.

Lisbon was uneasy with the fading Jane. His simple happiness in nature settings made her resolve to find ways to bring him outside as often as possible. Without dead bodies calling them to the scene. He didn't live far from her. She could use a pretext of needing company and not wanting to be in isolated areas alone. He'd be suspicious at first since he knew she certainly wasn't nature girl, nor afraid of being on her own. But she could convince him she was doing it for stress relief, something he always cautioned her to seek. And it would make his monitoring of her a little easier. As if she didn't know Jane haunted her parking lot so many nights, still watching her apartment and guarding her safety the best way he knew how without driving her nuts.

"I'm glad you decided to walk with me, Jane. I still feel jumpy about being out in public alone."

"Yes, I was surprised to learn you'd suddenly developed a fear of toy poodles or that maybe the rhododendrons might really be aliens shooting poison gas."

Slapping his arm lightly with the back of her hand, she laughed, "Stop. The buddy system is better. Everybody knows that."

"Well, I prefer it's me looking out for you than leaving it to someone else."

"Doctor says it's PTSD from the job and the whole Red John slog. I need the stress relief and it's such a pleasant way to get a little exercise. Maybe it'll save you some trips to my parking lot." Lisbon flashed him a knowing smile.

"Got me, Lisbon. So, I'm your buddy, eh?"

Lisbon sized up his mood. Seemed good. "Could be. You haven't tried to torment me once today."

"Oh. I must be slipping. I'll have to get on that right away!" He winked, sauntering at her side, hands in his pockets. "Feel like a coffee on the way home?"

"Sure!"

Jane left her at her car, saying, "This was good. Let's do it again."

"Yeah, maybe next weekend, or one evening this week. If you feel like getting out before then, just give me a call. And we can go to other places, too. The park by me is a little further away, but it's lovely, too. Or we could just take a walk. The streets are very nice in my neighborhood."

"Okay, Lisbon. Bye, have a good weekend."

Driving home, Lisbon marveled at the easy normalcy of the whole encounter.

Stretched on the couch in the silence of his stark apartment, Jane let the pleasure of the morning flutter away on the dark batwings of his thoughts.

Thursday was a slow day at the agency, no new cases. Jane asked Lisbon if she felt like going for a walk in the evening.

"Nothing fancy. We could just try your neighborhood."

"Let's do it! Text me before you come and I'll be ready."

Lisbon, of course, was spit-spot, ready to go when Jane rang the bell.

The weather cloudy and a little raw, the pair was bundled comfortably in jackets and scarves, hands tucked in their pockets. Rather than ruin the walk, the weather cast an unusual light while the wind rushed low in the bushes and around their legs. The trees and front gardens on their path shimmered in the vibrant atmosphere. Lisbon and Jane used hushed voices almost in respect. Jane said, "Mother Nature is reminding us who has the palette."

Lisbon whispered, "Deep thought, Jane." And she wasn't making fun. The knitted scarf she had thrown carelessly around her neck and shoulders needed constant adjusting and resetting in the wind. Patrick finally stopped and tied it around her neck, tucking the ends into the front of her jacket to stop them blowing loose again. Teresa accepted this intimacy, smiling shyly as her cheeks heated and her eyes dilated. Patrick's hands reddened in the chill wind and Lisbon caught one, tucking it into her pocket to warm with hers. He kept it there just because it felt good.

They weren't falling in love. Far from it. They were already in love. But neither one knew where to go in the big hole left by the death of Red John. Soon the walks ceased to be about Lisbon's stress reduction, but to make sure that Jane had at least a time or two in his week, out with his feet on the earth and his head in the sky where he seemed happiest. Now they walked and sat in parks or other green places because they were good together this way. They liked the time together.

Gradually, their conversations broadened to many topics. There was only one that was toxic and ended in fury and hasty partings. Jane's six-month disappearance to Las Vegas and his transfer of loyalties from Lisbon to Lorelei Martins as his best chance to catch Red John. Try as either one might, they could not get past it. And both Lorelei and Red John were dead now.

Jane did not understand why Lisbon was still so angry about it. "What did you expect me to do? I told you I would do anything to get Red John. Anything! From the day I met you. He wanted me to give up and I had to look like the real deal to draw him out. I had to make the play!"

"Make the play? Would you listen to yourself? You thought you were going to out con a serial killer who had shown he could kill when and where he chose and evade detection and identification for decades? Without law enforcement? Without the team that had been following him for years? That should tell you how delusional you were!"

Lisbon's face was red with wrath and occasionally her bitter, forceful words propelled a tiny drop of saliva from her mouth. "What I expected you to do was trust me, not her. I was your partner, not her. I helped bring down Red John, not her!"

Jane thought her unreasonable. This couldn't be about partners or trust or anything else she was spouting. He was a great partner now, he knew he was. She had taught him and he had learned. He had changed but she was still stuck in Las Vegas. Why? It wasn't like Lisbon to carry bitterness like this.

"What words can I say, Lisbon? What can I do to make it right?"

"You just don't get it, Jane."

"No. I don't. You win!" Jane had sped up, almost run to get away from her and home to his couch where his thoughts were twisted as monsters, gnawing at him from all angles. He spent hours on the couch that night, mulling every aspect.

Sometimes it was Lisbon who walked off. When these arguments flared, neither showed at the other's door to try and soothe feelings. The best they could do was show up for each other on the next walk and avoid the topic as best they knew how.

Jane should have figured it out long ago. The occlusion was his mindset for the whole Lorelei debacle. To him it was a play, a con with benefits he really didn't want but Lorelei might require. His feelings weren't really engaged, just his zeal to destroy his family's killer. Lorelei's broken, destroyed life played on his empathy. And sex creates warm feeling between people. But real feelings? Never.

Lorelei really had held all the cards for getting to Red John, only one step away. His job was to pet her until she lay the golden egg, give her what she wanted, make it easy for her. Once she discovered the truth that Red John killed her sister, Jane had believed that Lorelei would return and they would join up to bring the serial killer down. He'd just make sure he delivered the killing blow himself. He had trusted her for this more than he trusted Lisbon, the team and their copper methods to get even close to Red John. In that sense, law enforcement were just marks. He didn't throw in with marks. Lorelei had made him one. But Lisbon saw it as betrayal.

That got cleared up on Orchid Lane. He saw Lisbon was really ready to cut him loose and it was nearly killing her. No Lisbon. No CBI. Trust her. Be a partner to her, not Lorelei. Betrayal? Trust? Trust was for marks. She was willing to tear herself apart if he wouldn't trust her and be a real partner to her? It moved him. Not even Red John was worth losing Lisbon. He wanted to give Lisbon this thing. He wanted to give it to himself. It was a difficult struggle, but he hadn't given up.

Making that change hadn't been enough for Lisbon, although he had found it was a blessing to his own life. It allowed him to relax into a few important relationships where trust also played a part. But Lisbon was still angry. It finally dawned on him that her theme of his unfaithfulness with Lorelei had a literal, venal meaning. Jane had slept with Lorelei. He had thrown away with her what was precious to Lisbon. And, worse at this point in time, he had not slept with Lisbon. His stupidity at missing this critical discrepancy could not be overestimated. In Lisbon's eyes, Jane still owed her what he had carelessly given to Lorelei. Not to give it made her less than Lorelei. Nothing else made sense. Finally the black funks on his couch had paid off! He knew what had to be done, and most of him rejoiced.

The Saturday when Jane and Lisbon settled this between them had started with a walk that ended in "their" argument, indoors this time since they had stopped for tea afterwards at Lisbon's. Jane wasn't sure anymore how it had started. But it really didn't matter because it was just one of a hundred allusions Lisbon had made in the past year to his "unfaithfulness" with Lorelei. The word was never used. It was unnecessary since the implication was always obvious. Jane understood it now. Talking wasn't going to do it. But the fireworks started before he could get a handle on what to do this minute. His anger was phosphorus and already lit.

Jane watched Lisbon's behavior and expressions, confirming his conclusion. This was not about fucking a suspect, a witness, a criminal in her own right, a Red John minion. That was a blind used by Lisbon to continue firing on him, hidden behind the law, talking about "partnership." But she was lying. This was about Patrick fucking Lorelei. Lorelei, who had somehow taken Lisbon's coveted place in his life.

It was ridiculous! As far from reality as his sentiments could possibly be. Lorelei was dead now. There could only be one reason this argument continued. He'd been a fool not to see it. Wasted time. Wasted pain. So, here they were again, in a very familiar argument. Patrick Jane was determined to sidestep this elephant of an impasse. But fury controlled him in this moment.

Jane's face was traffic signal red. Droplets of sweat formed at his neck and trailed his cheeks and brow near the hairline. He knew what it was now. He knew the source of the anger that Lisbon clutched to her heart like a writhing, injured animal. She WOULD turn it loose. Today!

Fury laced his voice, amplifying the decibels and the register until he almost screamed, "All right! All right! You didn't get what Lorelei got! You want what she had, me fucking her! I'm going to give you that!"

Jane advanced on Lisbon until he was nearly toe to toe. His face had suddenly gone cold and white as blood shifted in his body to prepare it to make good on his promise. He was ready.

Lisbon did not flinch or step back. She stared at him in deadly calm. He wasn't going to give her anything.

"Show me how angry you are! Stop talking around it! Stop hinting at it! I want to see it! Show m-!"

Lisbon slapped his face, wrenching it to the side. When he turned to look at her, she slapped him again – harder, putting all her power into the blow! She watched his cheek redden and quickly resolve into a set of handprints – hers! They made a fan of scarlet against Jane's fair skin. She was not sorry. She wanted to hit him again. And again. And again. Mark him permanently so that whenever he looked in a mirror, he would remember. But Lisbon was not capable of sustaining such violence against someone she loved.

Jane had watched her face fill with rage, her eyebrows draw together, her lip draw back to expose her upper teeth, the way she set them into her lower lip as she delivered each blow, forcing her energy to concentrate in the fit muscles of her arm. At the last blow, her teeth had cut her lip and blood trailed down her chin, dripping onto the bosom of her shirt.

When she stopped hitting him, her hand still raised for the next blow, Jane could see sadness color her eyes and spread across her face like a dark curtain, hiding her as she withdrew from him. There was untold pain underneath the anger, betrayal. It had taken him so long to understand how his behavior was a betrayal. And he was ashamed that in Lisbon's eyes, he had dishonored her. But he would not let her back down from him.

He clasped her arms near the shoulders and shook her firmly. "Don't you dare retreat, Teresa! I fucked her!" Jane's voice was a low threat as he leaned further in, so close he could feel her breath, sharp with the emotion riding her blood.

Lisbon snarled at him and brought her forearms straight up between his, forcing them apart, then slammed his shoulders, pushing him back two steps. She stepped forward and shoved him again. When she had him near a wall, Lisbon grabbed his hand, applying a hold Jane had seen Cho do with a perp before, but less forceful, making Jane bend before her. He could smell the wet heat of her exertion.

"I never wanted anything real from her. You are the only reality in my life, Teresa. You are the one I love. My partner. My true partner in all ways. You taught me how. Doesn't it mean anything that I'm trying to make it up to you? That I want to be your true partner more than I want to breathe? How can I get around a dead woman when you keep her alive, Teresa?"

"You said you are going to give me what Lorelei got?" Lisbon imagined Jane on top of her, lost in the ecstasy of a moment, driving into her until she shattered under him. Anger and desire snaked through her like electricity in stripped wires, raw and colliding.

"Yes."

"You're going to fuck me?" Both instinct and self-knowledge told her it was the only way to heal the wound she carried and the one she inflicted on him as punishment.

"Yes."

"Wrong. I'm going to fuck you." She wanted control of this. None of his mind games.

Jane considered this surprising turn. Was that the same thing? Would that settle his debt? Then with as much a shrug as he could muster while bent over in Lisbon's hand lock, he said. "Okay. Deal. I give up, Lisbon."

She released his hand and he shook it, trying to fling away the small ache. Lisbon, knowing his submissive capitulation to violence, had gone easy on him. And he'd cooperated in every way. He had seen how painful that hold could be.

"Is this going to turn into some kind of discipline and bondage thing, Lisbon? I'm really not into that and I'm a little scared and confused right now. Hard to perform."

"I'll help you."

Patrick froze and stared at her. "Oh. Okay Lisbon. Uh. You know. All those chemicals floating around in your blood right now. They've put you in an altered state."

"Yeah."

"Kind of floaty, fuzzy, buzzy. Far away?" His hands gestured like butterflies in her field of vision.

"Yeah."

"You shouldn't act on impulse in that state. Someone could get hurt." Patrick was thinking it might be him. The woman was strong and dangerous, that much was clear. And quite capable of acting out in the numbness of the aftermath of their encounter. "I can help bring you down easy. If you want—"

"No."

"It would be nice. You could still fuck me."

"Shut up. I want to look at you." His hurt cheek beamed like a lantern, accusing her.

Patrick froze again. "Look at me? Look at me how?"

"Not in a way that would hurt." Taking his other hand, Teresa pulled him over to the kitchen table by the window. "Here. Sit in the light. How does your cheek feel?"

"Hot. Not too bad." Patrick watched her carefully, unsure of her transitional state.

Teresa was cooling down and coming to herself before Patrick's eyes. She surveyed the damage to his face. The flesh of his cheek was a kaleidoscope of scarlet finger marks, but there would not be a bruise. Still, it was ugly, physical, assaultive. Something in Lisbon caved. She stepped back, hugging herself with both arms, bent as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. She sat down, curled over her knees and began to weep.

Strangling noises issued a precursor to the sobs underneath. A year of pain burst out, wailing cries and a torrent of tears. She never once said I'm sorry. It wasn't about that. It was about what it had taken to break that wall, to open that dam of sorrow. His. All his. Because he had been too stupid to understand Teresa and what honor meant to her, fairness, or how he fit into that. As much as he loved her, he hadn't understood.

Patrick didn't try to go to her, comfort her or take the pain away. He was a witness to it, tears streaming down his own face, mixing with his own regret. "I'm going to get some ice."

Teresa waved an arm toward the refrigerator and continued sobbing.

The ice helped a lot, melting lumps under the wet cloth soothing his hot skin and taking the fire with it. "You sure do pack a wallop!"

The cries grew momentarily louder from the floor. Finally, Teresa stood up, her face a puffy, raw mess in the snuffling aftermath of an epic cry. "Here. Let me." She took the ice pack and cradling the back of Patrick's head with her free hand, began to tend his face, even wiping his tears, occasionally looking sorrowfully into his eyes, until the ice was nearly gone and the cloth sopping. Wringing the cloth over the sink, she applied it to her own distressed eyes and cheeks, cooing at the comfort it gave. Teresa looked much improved when she turned around, but her lip and chin were still bloody.

"Bring me the cloth, Teresa."

She did as he asked, handing it to him. Patrick set two fingers under Teresa's chin to hold her in place. Tucking his other hand under the wet fabric, he daubed gently at her swollen cut lip, clearing the blood from her chin as well. She winced but did not try to pull away.

"Good thing it's Saturday," Patrick said, attempting amusement. "We'd have a lot of explaining to do, if the team got a look at us. We should be fine by Monday. Maybe we won't pull a case before then."

Teresa put her hands on his shoulders. The look in her eyes told Patrick that his debt was still owed.

She said, softly, "Fuck me."

Patrick held his breath. This was moving fast. "I thought you were going to fuck me?"

"I thought you were going to give me what you gave her."

Patrick considered the change in Teresa's demand. "I will give you much more. More than she could ever have of me. Because I belong to you, Teresa. Only you." He studied her face to be sure his words had found their proper place in her heart and mind. Then, cautiously, he suggested, "You should get me started, okay?"

Teresa leaned down to softly press her lips to his, kissing the corners, kissing his eyes, cheeks, extra gently with the tender one. She moved to his brow and felt it relax under her touch, then returned to his lips, begging entrance to his mouth with her tongue. Patrick's breathing had accelerated by then and he took her in hungrily, sucking her tongue and then dandling it with his own.

Attempting to get up, Patrick relented at Teresa's light pressure on his shoulders. She broke the kiss. Straightening, she quickly undid blouse and bra, letting them slip from her shoulders, a rush of pleasure in the sudden freedom. Her tightening nipples whispered the thrill of exposing herself to him.

At his first view of Teresa's breasts, a bolt of lust shot through Patrick's groin and up his spine with a shiver that forced his breath out in a low huff. His trousers became suddenly very uncomfortable and restrictive, as an expanding erection bent along his lap, trying to stand at attention in its rightful place against his belly. His breath quickened as the warm rush grew white hot.

Patrick adjusted himself so that his swelling length lay along the inside of his thigh instead of cramped under his waistband. He could feel its hot density, the head a swollen, heavy stone poking well beyond the leg of his short silky boxers. Incoming blood gave it a delicious weight that now held it in place without struggle. He gave the head a squeeze anyway, just to feel his cock respond.

"Patrick." Much as she enjoyed watching Patrick handle himself, this was her show.

Shifting his attention to the creamy flesh, Patrick made love to Teresa's breasts as if they were her core, tonguing their pink buds to life. More insistent, Teresa crushed against his face until he had thoroughly kissed, sucked and pinched, leaving them rosy and even stubble-burned in places. Her hips swayed rhythmically with her sighing breath. Using only fingertips, Patrick feathered her breasts where the rounds swelled out from her ribcage. Teresa felt his touch hum all the way to her core as orgasm caught her, leaning against Patrick while he steadied her hips and buried his face in her flesh. She was so beautiful.

While she quieted, Patrick gently drummed his fingertips over her hip bones. Rather than calm, this brought a deep groan from Teresa and she arched her pubis towards Patrick's hand. Without thinking, he lowered the hand and stroked the mound under it. How perfectly it fit his cupped palm and how accessible the cleft as she parted to his thumb! He lowered his fingers, pushing them against the hollow of her hidden cavity. Even through the layers of clothing, Patrick could feel her panties sliding in liquid.

"I've been walking around swollen and dripping." Teresa watched her words create a surge of excitement in Patrick, using them to increase the demands of his desire, rubbing her leg against his hidden cock. "Sometimes I stay so engorged with thoughts of you that my lips rub each other as I walk."

Patrick was mesmerized by her eroticism. He stared with eyes the color of dark ink, wordless, panting the intensity of his arousal, whining at intervals. Her skin was a beautiful uneven flush of pink and red roses, covered with a moist sheen. Closing his eyes, Patrick savored the scent of musk so close to his face, concentrated by strong emotion and recent orgasm.

Moving out of his arms, Teresa said, "Follow me."

He traipsed after her to the bedroom like a pet dog.

Teresa removed his trousers, but left the silk boxers for the time being. "That's quite a tent you've got there, Patrick." She ran her hands over his groin, making the tent bob and tremble, then peeked lasciviously into the open leg of his shorts where his length poked the head of his penis into easy view. She caught the hem on both sides, sliding the fabric up, and exposed him fully, gently forcing the seam deep into the crease of one leg to uncover his testicles. These Teresa brushed tenderly, feeling the skin tighten and draw up, enjoying the fine golden hair she found.

Patrick begged her, "Don't tease me."

"Just look at me. I'm fucking you. Remember?" She kissed him warmly, a reassurance.

Slipping his boxers off, Teresa licked her lips as Patrick sprang out rock hard. Freed, he was standing straight up, blood-heated and leaking lubrication. She groaned and began to put her hands on him in earnest, gripping him briefly with both fists. His loud sighs sounded like cries. She watched his responses to every touch, driving him to the brink and pulling him back.

She reached under his hips, delving her fingers deep between the muscular mounds of his buttocks, forcing his hips forward, then bending over to push him into her mouth. Teresa kissed the heavy flesh that rose like velvet rock in front of his belly and Patrick watched her lips close over him. Her beautiful hair flowed forward against his hips and thighs, stroking him like a piece of soft satin. She had to know he would not be long. He just hoped he could continue to stand.

Teresa's heated mouth covered the knobby head and she sucked and tasted its tender surface, fingers softly kneading the fleshy cushion over his pubic bone. Patrick erupted. He reached down, pulling her up to cover her mouth with his, holding her in his arms, kissing her deeply and groaning into her mouth as he spilled a warm wash over her stomach. He thrust his hips into her belly and said her name over and over. He couldn't kiss her enough, murmuring the pleasure of his release.

"I'm not done with you," she said huskily. She stepped back and removed her jeans.

The seam of her thin panties pressed high into plump, fleshy folds and parted the exposed swells of her glistening labia. Patrick was stunned, dizzy at the erotic sight while his recently spent cock leaped. He took it in hand reflexively, groaning at the clench of blood being pumped in like a flash flood. He indulged his instincts to grasp, squeeze, tug and soon had his fist wrapped around a hot beast of an erection, pumping lightly while his fingers sloped over the head at each stroke, driving himself to a near frenzy of lust.

Teresa watched Patrick bring himself back to pitch, leaning against her low dresser. "Will you take off my panties, Patrick?"

Only then did he let go of himself to walk to Teresa. He bent low to take in her scent, now mixed with his own, making sure she knew this. Then he carefully ripped the panties apart, tearing them open at each hip. Pinching the thin fabric between thumb and forefinger, Patrick wriggled most of his hand into Teresa's heated cleft to dislodge and pry the panties gently up from her wet lips and straight to his nose, breathing her completely into his senses.

"I'm keeping these."

Teresa whined low in her chest, almost a feral sound, then opened the top drawer several inches and settled her hips on the front edge of the dresser. Patrick stopped breathing and stepped back to watch as she lifted a leg, spreading herself completely to rest a foot on the open drawer. Her slippery pink core was fully open to him as Patrick rushed toward her.

He loaded into her like a cannon, tamping, tamping her down and forcing her onto tiptoe to keep her balance. The dresser and its appointments rattled like an earthquake with rhythm while Teresa's naturally untamed locks rippled in the mirror that danced on the wall behind her. Patrick closed his eyes to the vaguely funhouse reflection that included his own ecstatic face, wound a hand into the thick silk of Teresa's hair and tried to hang on for dear life.

"My god, Teresa! It's like a furnace in there!" His head swam as he felt her heat begin to milk him immediately.

Teresa's legs were angled down, hanging off the dresser. Entering her put pressure on the top of her opening and the slick interior vault, forcing that sensitive bundle of nerves to slide along his length going in and pulling on it as he drew back. It was better than Patrick laying a thumb on her. And she saw that the friction was nirvana for him, plunging again and again, following orders from the blue spark in his brain.

Teresa cried out in rhythm with Patrick's movement, high cries rising from her throat but stifled by her closed mouth. In no time at all, as she began to pant and gasp for air, her voice echoed off the walls, calling Patrick to the same passionate heights. Her pulsing climax overwhelmed them both and they cried out together, Teresa almost screaming her release, Patrick breathing like a freight train. Before they separated, Patrick smothered her with wet, humming kisses, hugging her fiercely. It felt like heaven to Teresa and she captured his lips as if to taste the last of him.

"Lay down with me, Patrick. I'm so sleepy now."

"Am I forgiven? Is my debt paid?"

Teresa looked at him, so vulnerable, entreating her. "Yes. I know you didn't give this to her. This is mine. Mine alone."

"So am I, Teresa. Yours alone." Patrick lay in Teresa's bed, taking the far side and opening his arms for her.

They lay in tender peace together, as if this was part of their established life. Naked and paired in every meaningful way, they did not arise until morning but cemented their union at intervals throughout the night of their great blessing. Forgiveness.


End file.
